The Devil King rose from his throne.
When he stood, Hell leaned toward him.
Flames crawled up the pillars, chains groaned, and the screaming sky above the citadel darkened to a bruised red. His presence crushed down on Elara's lungs until breathing became an act of defiance.
"Look at her," he said, circling slowly. "So small. So fragile."
Each step he took made the floor tremble.
"And yet," he continued, eyes gleaming, "my realm recoils."
Elara's vision blurred. The magic inside her writhed violently, responding to him like a wounded animal cornered by a predator.
Kael moved closer, his hand brushing hers.
The contact grounded her—and ignited something dangerous.
The Devil King noticed.
"Ah," he murmured. "There it is."
He stopped directly in front of Elara, towering over her.
"Blood Witch," he said, voice suddenly sharp. "Kneel."
The word struck her like a physical blow.
Magic slammed downward, forcing her knees toward the obsidian floor.
Elara cried out, teeth clenched, shaking as the pressure tried to break her.
Kael stepped forward. "Enough."
The Devil King didn't even look at him.
"Kneel," he repeated.
Something inside Elara snapped.
Her knees hit the floor—but instead of submission, power exploded outward.
The ground cracked violently beneath her palms. Blood-red sigils flared across the floor, ancient symbols clawing their way back into existence.
Hell screamed.
Flames guttered and died.
Chains shattered.
The Devil King staggered back one step.
One.
Silence fell so hard it hurt.
Elara gasped, staring at her hands. Blood trickled from her nose, dripping onto the glowing sigils.
"I didn't—" she whispered.
The Devil King laughed.
Not mockery.
Delight.
"Magnificent," he breathed. "You rewrote a command."
Kael stared at her, awe flickering across his face before hardening into something far more dangerous.
Possession.
The Devil King turned to him.
"You feel it, don't you?" he asked softly. "The pull. The corruption."
Kael didn't deny it.
"She belongs nowhere," the King continued. "Not among witches. Not among devils."
He looked back at Elara.
"But she could belong to Hell."
Elara's heart pounded.
"No," Kael said flatly.
The Devil King smiled wider. "You misunderstand. This is not a request."
He raised his hand.
Pain tore through Elara's chest—sharp, intimate, wrong. She screamed as invisible claws wrapped around her heart, testing its strength.
Kael roared, flames erupting from his body as he lunged forward—
—and stopped dead.
The Devil King's power slammed him to his knees.
"This is her trial," the King said calmly. "Interfere, and she dies."
Elara sobbed, clutching her chest. "Kael—"
"Focus," Kael snarled, fighting the pressure. "Don't let him break you."
The pain intensified.
Something deep inside Elara stirred—not rage, not fear—
choice.
Her blood heated, magic boiling up from her core. Slowly, trembling violently, she lifted her head.
"No," she whispered.
The Devil King blinked.
She pushed.
Power surged outward—not wild, not feral—deliberate.
The pressure shattered.
The Devil King was thrown backward, crashing into his throne of flame as cracks split its surface.
Hell went silent.
Elara collapsed.
Kael was there instantly, catching her before she hit the ground, pulling her against his chest.
The Devil King stared at them both.
Then he laughed again—low and dangerous.
"She passes," he declared. "And you, my son…"
His eyes burned with anticipation.
"You've just made yourself my enemy."
Elara clutched Kael's coat weakly. "I didn't mean to—"
Kael tightened his grip on her.
"I know," he said quietly.
But his gaze never left his father.
And in that moment, Hell understood a terrible truth—
The Blood Witch had survived her trial.
And the Devil's heir had chosen her anyway.